


I Heard It On The Radio

by jrrjabberwock



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, StarKid Productions RPF
Genre: Child Abuse, Ethan is alive in this he just got a nasty concussion and left with them, that's about the only happy thing about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jrrjabberwock/pseuds/jrrjabberwock
Summary: Dressed in denim, with his hair slicked back and sitting in a backward chair, he reminds her a bit too much of every teacher and counselor who’s tried to ‘set her on the right path’ only to express how deep their disappointment is when she doesn’t become a perfect upstanding citizen overnight. The door is already gone, there is no escaping this room until he wants her to and the slight uptick of his smile when she realizes this says that she’s exactly where he wants her.
Relationships: Lex Foster & Wilbur Cross
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	I Heard It On The Radio

The house is unnaturally quiet for the first time in a week, always buzzing with some form of activity until now. The radio in the other room crackles briefly with static, and Lex stands still, listening to see if a word, any word, can be made out from the garbled sound. Just one. DO. Nothing too special, probably the same sort of messages from the places that haven’t been bombed into the next century urging people to stay inside, stay safe. There is nowhere safe between the war and Wiggly. Even as he’s falling in power, it’s not safe enough. McNamara said that if he could be defeated in Hatchetfield, he could be defeated anywhere, that doesn’t mean that he _will_ be defeated. Some places have, but not many. not enough. In the fallout of the seemingly unprompted bombing and riots over the tickle me wiggly, all eyes are focused on the United States, and it seems that it’s the end of life as they know it.

It cuts out just as quickly as it began, the static giving way to the unbroken silence that feels suffocating as she stands in the hallway, a hallway she realizes she doesn’t know. It’s sickly green walls feel as if they’re closing in on her, crushing in with every breath. Where’s Hannah? Or Ethan? Or... anyone? She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Like the silence is stealing her voice, and even the crackling static is missed in this perfectly unnatural silence.

She moves out of necessity, unable to stay still as her heart races, running down the hallway that stretches for miles as she looks for a way out. There were doors once, and turns, but no longer. Just endless expanses of green surrounding her on all sides, until she sees the door at the end of the hallway. She lurches to a sudden halt. There’s something wrong with that room. Something that wants to swallow her whole, like a beast sitting with its jaws wide open. If she enters, she doesn’t think she’ll ever leave, but there is no hallway behind her. Only a solid green wall that hurts when she tries to kicking it to look for a weak spot.

" _Alexandra_ … "

Whatever is on the other side of that door knows her name, and against all odds, it sounds familiar. Not familiar like a warm blanket that offers comfort, but the sort that throws you out into the bitter cold to fend to yourself. It reaches out like a hand clasping around her throat, and she batters the wall with more force, but it feels as if it’s pushing back against her every blow and she knows that she’s trapped here. The only way out is through the door, but she doesn’t want to embrace that, instead pressing her back to the wall as she slides down it. This can’t be reality. Becky warned her that things like this might happen. Delusions from trauma or something like that but she said it in such a soft tone that Lex found it hard not to ignore, the knee jerk reaction that might be construed as pitying.

"You always were an obstinant little brat… don’t keep me waiting, Alexandra, it’s _rude_."

"Fuck off." It comes off less forceful than she intends it to, but at least she has her voice back, and it feels like a victory even as it feels weak and pitiful in her mouth. She isn’t helpless. She stares at the door. Is it a challenge, or a trick? An exit or an entrance into something unfathomable? She is no coward, even as her clenched fists shake her jaw sets and she is wondering if she dares to enter, is it bravery or an admission of defeat?

"Such language, I’m surprised your mother didn’t teach you better."

"My mom’s an alcoholic bitch— " She snarks, but she’s jerked up sharply from her spot on the floor like something grabbed the back of her shirt despite the fact that there is only a wall behind her. Nevertheless, she would have been cut off by the sound of something slamming into the other side of the door, the voice suddenly sounding as if it’s coming from just behind her left ear.

"Now that is no way to talk about your mother, Lex, your daddy should have stuck around to teach you some manners." Whatever is holding her shirt releases and she moves forward several steps, now at the center point between the door and the wall, which has remained just as smooth and green as the moment she first saw it. She is alone, but _something_ was holding her up, **someone** was whispering in her ear. The voice is there again, on the other side of the door. "I guess that’s my fault, but I won’t make that mistake anymore… now, are you coming in? or do I have to drag you?"

This whole situation, whatever it is, is fucked. Standing in the dead center of the room, there is no escape, aside from the door or divine intervention, and no angels are coming to her aid. No signs of john either. Just a stranger on the other side of the door, slowly beginning to turn the knob. Like hell is she letting whoever this bastard is drag her anywhere. In a short few strides, she has the twisting knob in hand and as she starts to turn it herself to throw the door open, a wave of deafening radio static makes impact, and all she can hear is the static and the word that’s barely able to be deciphered through it. YOU.

There is nothing too spectacular on the other side of the door. A small, grey room, that looks something like the Hatchetfield Rec Center. Dingy walls, and a few chairs scattered around, she’s only broken in there to smoke a few times, but it’s just familiar enough to put her further on edge. There is only one occupant in the room, and he’s too far away to be the one who was turning the knob, but the way he watches her with silent intensity tells her that it must have been him.

Dressed in denim, with his hair slicked back and sitting in a backward chair, he reminds her a bit too much of every teacher and counselor who’s tried to ‘set her on the right path’ only to express how deep their disappointment is when she doesn’t become a perfect upstanding citizen overnight. The door is already gone, there is no escaping this room until he wants her to and the slight uptick of his smile when she realizes this says that she’s exactly where he wants her.

"Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Why don’t you have a seat? We have a lot to talk about." The voice confirms that he was the one pulling her up the wall, whispering in her ear, and commanding from the other side of the door. Who else? The way he makes her skin crawl is familiar too. A phantom itch that burns at the back of her mind. 

Taking several steps back, she watches to see if he moves closer, which he doesn’t to her surprise and relief. "You know, I’m not really in a talking mood. Mom didn’t teach me a lot, but I know better than to talk to strangers." She tries to act more courageous than she feels as she keeps herself steady, the same way that she does in the face of her mother’s insults. It’s easier to feel like a badass when she doesn’t almost trip herself up when her ankle catches the leg of a chair.

"I know it’s been some time, but we’re hardly strangers, Lex." There he is with his cryptic bullshit again, clearly taking a sick delight in her confusion as he leans forward watching her with marked interest. "In fact, we know each other quite well… Why don’t you take a stab at it, who do you think I am?"

"Some sort of sick bastard who enjoys toying with girls? I’m not scared of you, you fucking psychopath. I’ve faced things a lot worse than a farmer stuck in the 90s." She doesn’t sit to appease him, it’s for the reassurance of something solid pressed up against her back that isn’t the green wall. It’s not much, but it’s something, and she sits with her feet pressed flat against the floor, arms crossed, and staring with an expression that shows annoyance, doing little to betray her fear. At least on the surface.

"Not quite the answer I was looking for, and I think you’ll find I’m much more than a farmer." A shining green apple is in his hand, and Lex doesn’t remember seeing him holding one before, but he is now. Tossing it up, catching it, over and over. A small action, mesmerizing in its repetitiveness. Ahe watches it with an expectancy, waiting for it to fall to the floor, but he catches it, surprising her each time for reasons she can’t name. "That’s strike one, care to take another guess?"

"A jackass with a god complex? I have no idea who the fuck you think you are." It’s true, she doesn’t know, but she blinks and she can swear that their chairs are closer together than when they started. The room smells like smoke and apples now, but she doesn’t know why. She slides herself back with the balls of her feet, taking her eyes off of the man to glance behind her. She’s almost against the grey wall, and moves the few additional inches required, but when she turns back to face him and she’s sure he’s gotten closer. She didn’t hear him move. Thirty feet has become twenty now, and she feels much less secure. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she feels for her pepper spray, for keys, for anything, but they’re empty.

"What is it with you prophets and your pepper spray? There’s nothing intimidating about a bottle of seasoning and chemicals." Lex looks up at him, and he grins, takes a bite of the apple, before continuing the motion of tossing it and catching it again. "Yes, Alexandra, I know about your pepper spray, and your keys, really everything you’ve got in those pockets of yours, or should I say had? And that’s not to mention everything you’ve got going on in that pretty little head of yours. ’

"I’m not a prophet." Is that what this is all about? Some sort of religious weirdo? That feels too simplistic though. That was what General McNamara had called Linda, wasn’t it? The prophet. Wake the warrior, kill the prophet, save the world. That had been what he said, wasn’t it? The crush of radio static fills her head again, throbbing and pounding. HEAR. "You’re one of Wiggly’s followers, aren’t you?"

For a fraction of a second, Lex can see blood on his teeth when he smiles, she’s sure of it. He’s closer again, fifteen feet instead of twenty. She’s feeling claustrophobic, realizing she isn’t against a wall, but nestled in a corner. There is no way out. There is no escaping whatever the hell she’s gotten herself into, but she might at least get answers.

"No, you’re not. At least, _not anymore_. You were the first prophet though. You were supposed to be special, but it seemed like it skipped over you— but here we are. I guess you turned out special after all… but not special enough, apparently. How many people do you think died because of what you did? Hundreds? _Thousands?_ Maybe it’s still burning… of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that tucked away safe and sound in a panic room. I bet the rest of Hatchetfield wishes they had one of those right about now."

He stands from his chair, seemingly impossibly tall from Lex’s vantage point, terrifying in the way that he seems to revel in the chaos. Before she can respond, he’s moved on to her question. "I used to ask you if you could see him, but you never could. Such a disappointment, maybe if you had, I might have stayed… you aren’t wrong though, Lex, and it’s not too late for you… at least, not if you can answer my question… You still don’t know who I am to you, don’t you?"

"All you are to me is a doll worshipping psychopath."

It’s clearly not the answer he was looking for, as he quickly closes the distance between them in a single stride— when had he gotten so close? It doesn’t matter, because he has a fistful of her hair in his grip and she’s forced to her feet again to look him in the eyes. "He is so much more than a doll, but you know that, Alexandra. What you don’t seem to know is that is no way to speak to your father."

Lex has only been punched in the gut a few times in her life, she could count it on one hand. She’s heard it as a turn of phrase for devastating news but she’d rather take a thousand blows than feel the skin-crawling revulsion that pulses through her at what he says. She tries to wrench her head out of his grip, but he does not let go, only tightens his hold.

"You’re **not** my father." She spits through grit teeth, trying not to wince as she is forced to the tips of her toes to lessen the pain. He can’t be her father. Just because he wore denim too doesn’t make him her father. Not the slick black hair or the cloud of mortal terror that surrounding him.

"You can see him now, can’t you Lex?" The way he forms the words makes her stomach drop as they echo ceaselessly, a chorus of his voice, asking the question over and over again that fell on the ears of a girl who was blind. He lets go, and she would fall to the floor if he hadn’t caught her with that inhuman speed. She can’t breathe, and her hands claw at his arm as she kicks and struggles, held aloft by the grip around her neck. "You can see him, but you’re afraid, so I’m offering you a chance... because you’re special. The first of your kind. Accept his love… ask for his mercy, and _maybe_ , he’ll spare you."

She kicks, futilely. Her survival instinct is strong but it cannot rival the immeasurable strength of the being that is supposedly her father. Maybe he’s just taking his form. She knows the truth, but it’s too sickening to stomach. He’s tossing the damned apple in his free hand again, watching it with idle interest as if he’s bored and resorted to the act as a way of occupying himself. As if he’s not choking her with such force that the edges of her vision are starting to go black.

"So, what will it be, Alexandra? I understand talking might be a bit hard for you right now, so a nod will do… Do you see him?" There’s radio static pouring out of his mouth, and the word plucks itself from the abyss. HIM. She is watching the apple rise and fall. Suspension, falling, stopping. Repeating over and over. She can hear it, the smack when the flesh of the fruit meets with the flesh of his palm with such consistency it might be a metronome.

She closes her eyes, listens to the apple, to his breathing, to her own blood rushing as her body grows weaker. She shakes her head. She can’t see him, she doesn’t want to. The apple meets the palm again.

"What a shame you turned out to be…"

The grip on her neck loosens, and she can suck in a single wheezing breath, her eyes opening. Is he going to let her go? She can see the apple fly up out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t hear it land. And then she is falling. Without a grip around her neck, she is falling through an endless blackness, but she knows, _she know_ s she’s going to hit the ground sooner rather than later and with a gasp, she awakens. Lying on the couch, five feet from the radio, a notepad and pen on her chest, no hand around her throat. No trouble breathing except for the fearful gasping of trying to make sense of what had just happened.

A bad dream. A **nightmare**. It felt so very real, but it was all inside her head, a migraine starting to form as she sits up with a measured exhale. She’s only just beginning to regain a semblance of peace, or failing that, _stability_ , when the radio flicks back on. It shouldn’t have been off in the first place. The static fills the room, but there are words buzzing in it. Not news, not transmissions from possible survivors, it’s reaching out to her **directly**.

YOU CAN’T SEE HIM, ALEXANDRA, BUT YOU CAN HEAR HIM. I KNOW YOU CAN.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a whole arc planned with this, not sure if I'll end up posting the rest on here, but I figured some people might enjoy it. If there's interest in the continuation I might post the rest.
> 
> I do plan on continuing this, however, I'm in a really bad state right now financially due to an unexpected bill and being immunocompromised during a pandemic, so I'm going to link my ko-fi below and if you're inclined to help, I would be so grateful to you, and if not that's okay too. I completely understand. Thank you all for being so wonderful.
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/jrrjabberwock


End file.
